


self-care (redux)

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [25]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, YCMAL 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Today is a bad day,” Joey says.“Very bad,” Scratch says.“Buy us junk food for dinner,” Joey says.“Really?” Scratch says, brightening.Joey nods.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 20
Kudos: 327





	self-care (redux)

While the Scouts all take a break to rest and recuperate and watch the remainder of the Eastern Conference Finals, Joey waits for Scratch to barge into his apartment.

And waits.

He bides his time reading up on his potential Stanley Cup nemeses while half watching Game Four — he’s genuinely shocked to see the Senators still in there, and not just in there, but actually _in the game_ — and discussing his fuck up with Owen and Casey. They’re divided on how big a fuck up it is, but Joey thinks they’re only divided because Owen’s trying to be nice, and Casey’s well beyond that point with Joey by now, completely aware he needs brutal honesty sometimes.

He waits some more.

 _Are you planning on barging into my apartment anytime soon or what_ , Joey texts Scratch when it’s been thirty-six hours since they got home. It should be comforting that Scratch arrives within hours of the message, but isn’t, really, because the whole point of Scratch barging in is that he doesn’t require an invitation.

“I brought sandwiches,” Scratch says.

Joey holds his hand out and mutely accepts Scratch’s ‘I’m sorry for once again being distant with you’ sandwich.

“Sorry,” Scratch says after a few bites of his own, non-apology sandwich. “I — okay, so. I’m kind of not cool being around you when we’ve been drinking right now.”

Joey nibbles at his sandwich. That kind of makes sense. “Because your inhibitions are lower or mine are, or what?”

“I mean, yeah?” Scratch says. “But it’s not just that. I know Drunk Money pretty well, I think.”

“Me too,” Joey says.

“I probably know Drunk Money better than you know Drunk Money,” Scratch says.

“Debatable,” Joey says. But possibly not inaccurate. If Drunk Money goes far enough into the night, he will not remember his actions beyond a certain point. 

“You make bad decisions when you’re drunk,” Scratch says. “I really don’t want that bad decision to be me.”

“How could you ever be a bad decision?” Joey asks.

“I—” Scratch says. “Shut up for a second. Stop saying nice things.”

“I will shut up for a second but I refuse to stop saying nice things about you,” Joey says.

“You do stupid shit when you’re drunk,” Scratch says.

Joey is with him. He absolutely does. Often tremendously stupid. In his defense and Scratch’s lack of defense, they usually do stupid shit together.

“Shit you regret,” Scratch says.

Joey regrets almost all of it, so he can’t exactly argue that. One day he’s going to get good enough blackmail material on Willy to make him delete the fountain video, but that day has not arrived yet. You’d think Playoff Willy would do it, but the problem is Playoff Willy does not feel shame about his behavior, only an overriding desire to succeed at any costs.

“You saying you might be interested when you’re fucked up on White Claws—” Scratch starts, then, before Joey can say anything, “And victory.”

The victory was a very important facet of that drunkenness and Joey is grateful he acknowledged it. 

“That’s not exactly—” Scratch says. “That’s not exactly giving me any confidence that you actually mean it? And I need you to mean it. You can’t say shit when you’re drunk and then go ‘wait no, I’m sober now, never mind that stupid shit’ the next day because it’d really fucking suck for me. Like, I’m cool with waiting out the playoffs and you making a decision then, and I’m steeling myself to be okay with whatever that decision is, but you can’t fuck around with my feelings in the meantime, Joey.”

“I’m sorry,” Joey says. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Scratch says. “You’re like, incapable of being mean on purpose.”

Joey winces, because it sounds like he’s totally capable of being mean by accident, which — he knew he fucked up the second Scratch got up on the plane, but it still hurts to have it confirmed.

“I did mean what I said,” Joey says. “I’m not taking it back, I just — I’m still not—”

“Sure?” Scratch says. “That’s like. I get that. That’s fine. I just — can you not say anything unless you are? Like, completely?”

“Okay,” Joey says.

“Okay,” Scratch says. “Wanna watch something?”

“Sure,” Joey says.

“Can we watch something stupid and brain-turned off?” Scratch says. “Playoffs are fucking exhausting.”

“Feel that,” Joey says, and goes straight to comedies. Scratch doesn’t even make it twenty minutes into it before his eyes are shut, and he isn’t a doze off in front of the TV person usually, so he must be wiped. Joey pauses the movie, glancing over at him, the long fan of his lashes against his cheeks, listens to the soft, even sound of his breath. He’s frozen for a second, heart feeling — too big, or too small, or _something_ — before he gets up to get Scratch a blanket, tucking it around him before he turns down the TV volume to a low hum that won’t wake Scratch up and starts up the movie again.

*

Scratch looks marginally less tired when he meets Joey in the lobby, following him into the elevator for the parking garage with a stride that’s more normal than a sleepy shuffle, and Joey likes to think the hour and a half of sleep he got on Joey’s couch before Joey gently nudged him awake was a difference maker.

That, unfortunately, was not a sign of how the rest of the day would go.

Limbo’s nowhere to be found when they take the ice for practice, which is unnerving, because it’s not an optional one, and Limbo’s probably the most punctual guy on the Scouts, the sort of dude who considers ten minutes early to be inexcusably late. Trigger looks grim. Not that Trigger doesn’t always look grim, he’s got a resting murder face, but today his expression is especially grim. It’s not a good sign.

Maybe Joey’s worried about nothing. Maybe his kids have the flu or something and he caught it, or Coach decided he needed a rest day. It could be benign. 

Joey skates over to Trigger and his grim face.

“What’s up with Limbo?” Joey says.

“Groin,” Trigger says.

“Fuck,” Joey says. “Just a twinge, or—”

“Fucking tore it,” Trigger says. “He’s out.”

 _Fuck_.

“You’ve got this,” Joey tells Trigger with all the hope in the world that Trigger will in fact have this. 

Trigger gives him a tiny nod and then goes back to a thousand mile stare.

Practice does not go well.

That is a complete understatement.

The mood’s not great after they get the news about Limbo, and then it’s fucking awful when Reggie has to duck out of practice after taking a killer slapper from Shithead. Joey has never seen Shithead look so apologetic in his life, but shit happens, and hopefully it was just a bad stinger, maybe some bruising. Reggie’s a tough guy. Reggie’s a tough enough guy that the fact he left practice at all probably means there’s a cause for concern, but Joey’s trying to be positive here.

After Joey gets home he finds out via twitter there’s talk of an ‘upper body injury’ and ‘out indefinitely’. Nothing more specific, until he gets a very grim text from Playoff Willy. Broken hand. Absolutely no chance in hell he’ll be fit to dress for the Finals. If it was a finger or two, maybe — Joey’s seen guys play through gruesome shit during the playoffs, Playoff Willy had a fractured rib and a fucked up hamstring in the Finals last year and didn’t say shit about it until it was all over — but hand? Not a chance.

So there’s half of their top-pairing D out too. They already lost a few guys on the way, enough that their depth became important, but these ones really fucking hurt. This day is a bad day.

Scratch barges into Joey’s apartment not long after Joey gets the news from Playoff Willy.

“Playoff Willy tell you about Reggie?” Joey says.

“Jonesy did,” Scratch says. “He’s pretty fucking stressed about it.”

“Today is a bad day,” Joey says.

“Very bad,” Scratch says.

“Buy us junk food for dinner,” Joey says.

“Really?” Scratch says, brightening.

Joey nods.

“There’s so many choices,” Scratch mumbles to himself as he scrolls through Uber Eats. Joey bets. There are so few well-rounded healthy choices for Joey, so Scratch’s choices are literally everything else.

“We’re getting burgers,” Scratch finally decides. “You want grilled chicken instead?”

“Order me a damn burger,” Joey sighs.

“Cheese?” Scratch asks.

“Fuck it, sure,” Joey says.

“…bacon?” Scratch says.

“Whatever your heart desires,” Joey says.

“Does _your_ heart desire bacon?” Scratch says.

Joey considers. “Not really,” he says.

“Your heart’s weird, but okay,” Scratch says. “Cheeseburger for Money, double bacon cheeseburger for Scratch. Sound good?”

Joey shrugs.

“Vanilla milkshake for Scratch,” Scratch says.

“You’re pushing it now,” Joey says.

“Large order of fries mostly for Scratch,” Scratch adds.

“I’ll only have a few,” Joey says. “Go for a small.”

“Large order of fries mostly for Scratch,” Scratch repeats.

“Fine,” Joey says. 

“And—” Scratch says.

“No ands!” Joey says.

“Side salad for Money,” Scratch says. “Dressing on the side.”

“Okay, fine, acceptable,” Joey says. “Go for it.”

“Thirty minutes,” Scratch says. “Tons of time for a good sulk.”

They sulk together until the food arrives, and then Scratch is very cheered up. Which was kind of what Joey was hoping for, because at least one of them can be cheered up by food.

“Thanks, Money,” Scratch says with a satisfied sigh after hoovering everything in front of him. Joey’s had half his burger and Scratch is sucking up the last of his milkshake. It’s disgusting. Somehow not disgusting enough to make Joey any less confused about whether it’s worth risking the best friendship he’s ever had to date that. And if Joey does risk it, that’s a forever thing, because nothing else would be worth risking losing Scratch.

A lifetime of watching Scratch hoover food should not be an appealing prospect. And it isn’t — he eats like a starving chipmunk, it’s gross — but Joey still kind of wants to kiss him. More than kind of. Like at least moderately, even right now, after watching Scratch practically unhinge his jaw. Which probably tells Joey something, but Scratch wants surety, which is fair. Joey wants surety too. He’d really like to be sure right now.

“For what?” Joey says, after what’s probably a suspiciously long pause. 

Scratch gives him a look, so Joey guesses the ‘feed Scratch junk food to make him feel better’ thing wasn’t as subtle as he thought.

Joey shrugs. “No problem,” he says.

“Wanna watch something happy or wanna watch something depressing and sulk some more?” Scratch asks.

Joey considers. “You pick,” he says.

Scratch goes for Tiger King. Joey’s not really a documentary person, unlike Scratch, but people haven’t shut up about it so they had to get around to watching it eventually, if only so everyone will stop telling them they have to watch it. 

It’s — certainly not happy, but it is fascinating enough in a horrible way to distract Joey from the sulk for awhile. Like, until bed awhile. Probably a little after bed awhile since they can’t stop watching it, only breaking for periodic bathroom breaks and Scratch raiding his cupboard like he didn’t just eat two hours — oh fuck it’s been way more than two hours since they ate dinner.

“We gotta stop,” Scratch says as they watch the timer count down before the next episode.

“We’re not gonna stop,” Joey says.

“We have responsibilities,” Scratch says, pausing as episode six starts. “We have jobs! It’s the playoffs!”

“We don’t have practice tomorrow and there are at least two more games happening in the East. Or like. At least one. Who won tonight?”

“Sens,” Scratch says after checking his phone.

“Whoa, not what I was expecting,” Joey says. “Hit play.”

“Joey,” Scratch says.

“Hit play, sir,” Joey says.

“Fine, but I’m getting a blanket first,” Scratch says, and returns from Joey’s spare room with a comforter, offering Joey half.

“Comfy?” Scratch says, after Joey’s arranged his half to his liking, and when Joey nods, Scratch presses play.


End file.
